


Passacaglia

by PyroPinkie



Series: Angel and Demon AU [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angel and Demon AU, Angel/Demon Relationship, Crack Treated Seriously, Fast and loose Christian mythos, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroPinkie/pseuds/PyroPinkie
Summary: Angel and Demon AuRaoul remembered. He remembered all the lives he had lived before. He remembered the cycle that cast him to earth every fifty years, to return to heaven after a century before the cycle turned around once more. He remembered and Raoul smiled.





	1. Allegro

Raoul fell to his knees in the sand. He clutched his head, a burning agony overwhelming him. The sand was course as it stuck to his legs. He swayed in the wind and toppled to his side. He could numbly feel the ocean water lap at his hair, but he could not see it. His face was turned away, towards the sky. The unrelenting open sky. He shook as more pain washed over him. It was agony, agony as his mind was accosted with memories to large to fit into his mind. His mind was reeling. He was remembering more and more. He remembered a grand war. Bloodshed of dark hues, carnage of in human creatures. Conflict that seemed to enormous to ever forget. Those were only the first of the memories. His mind was addled with memories he couldn't quite process. And it was causing him great pain. 

Raoul was five. He was spending the summer at the beach with his family. Only days before, had Raoul been playing in the water with his brother and sisters. Philippe was spending the summer teaching him how to swim. Philippe always liked to say the knowing how to swim was important in life. Philippe said that about many thing, so Raoul never put much stock in most of them. 

Eloise made sand castles with him. They spent the first week at the De Chagny summer estate collecting large piles of sand, grouping them away from where the water couldn't wash them away. They spent the second week starting the process of making a large sand city when they were hit by a large thunder storm. It was the largest Raoul had been caught up in, and his father said it was due to their proximity to the ocean. Raoul ran out onto the beach the next morning. The beach was covered in seaweeds and their sand city had been washed away. Eloise came out and put a comforting hand on his back. "We can make it again Raoul, we have an entire beach. We can make it better and bigger than the last." Raoul smiled and ran out to start making more piles of sand. 

Aveline read him books. They were stories and fables. Tales to keep Raoul engaged. Raoul also played with a small girl who he had met at the beach. He had playing in the water when he heard a cry and a flash of red swirl past him. He had ran out into the water and had grabbed at the scrap of clothing. He smiled triumphantly, turning back to the person who had cried out. It was a young girl, younger than him. She was standing at the edge of the water, her hands to her face. Raoul felt the water whip around his feet as he trudged his way back to land. He handed the cloth back to the girl, still smiling. She took the piece from Raoul and smiled as she felt it still dry. She smiled and spoke. "Thank you for saving my scarf." She grabbed Raoul's hand and pulled him towards a small cottage not far from the De Chagny summer estate. It looked homely.

"Where are you taking me?" Raoul didn't try to take his hand back. He was too curious, and much to young to have warnings of strangers engraved into him. 

"My home. My father will thank you as well for saving my scarf." She took him onto the porch of the house where Raoul saw an older man sitting on a rocking chair. He was plucking at some string on a violin, humming along. He looked up at their noise. "Christine? What's all this?" He lowered the violin and rested it on the wall of the house behind him. 

"Papa, he saved my scarf." Christine's father laughed jovially and smiled at Raoul.

Christine's father, Raoul learned, was a very nice man. He let the two play together while he played for them songs on his violin. He taught a few things to Raoul who was eager at the sight of instrument. It was hard for Raoul to sit though the small lessons they had, he often fidgeted and was relentless by his attention being snatched away by something else. Christine's father always guided him back to lessons before letting him go and play with his brother, sisters or Christine. 

Raoul had been spending the day alone. Philippe was working with their father, his two sisters were in the town, shopping. Eloise was shopping for a gift for a suitor of hers, and Aveline was shopping for a new book to read to Raoul and Christine. Christine herself was spending the afternoon with her father. Raoul had been walking along the beach side. The water was calm and a beautiful blue. If Raoul could, he would want nothing more that to swim forever under the water, in that moment. The sand was hot but not burning and Raoul wiggled his toes in it whenever he stopped. Raoul looked at the sand and thought of how Philippe recently told him that sand could be heated by fires so vast and turned into glass. It made Raoul think of swords, but he didn't understand the connection. He supposed swords were also forged in vast fires. Raoul remembered his mother telling him stories of an angel with a sword of fire. Raoul's feet were starting to hurt in the hot sand. He ducked into the water and sat as the waves calmly washed around him.

He had been thinking of fire and forging when his thoughts turned. His thoughts were swept by swords and Raoul could vividly hear the clashing of swords. It wasn't like a rapier that his brother or father carried, but a backsword. Suddenly the noise increased, a crescendo in his head. It was now thousands of swords. Thousands, all fighting against each other. A vast fire like the ones in forges swept over his mind and he collapsed unto the hot sand. He thrashed as his mind burned. 

His brother found him in the sand, screaming and burning to the touch. Raoul was in a deep fervor. Philippe grabbed Raoul, picking him up into his arms. He carried Raoul to the estate and yelled for their father, for servants, for anyone. Philippe was panicked. He didn't know what to do. His brother was still thrashing, still screaming. His father came rushing from his study and quickly inquired about the situation, he himself panicked at the site of Raoul.

Raoul's father took Raoul and carried him upstairs. He entered Raoul's room and laid him on his bed. By that time Raoul had stopped screaming and thrashing, but he wasn't responding to either Philippe or his father. Raoul's father called for a doctor. 

The Doctor took an hour to arrive from the town. He sat at the edge of Raoul's bed and felt his forehead. The doctor reeled back. "He's burning up. He's having an extremely high fever."

"What caused it." Raoul's father's tone was urgent but the undercurrents of fear and worry were still detectable to Philippe. "I'm not sure at this time. Is your son allergic to anything?" Their father paused, but then shook his head. "No, nothing we know of at least." The doctor nodded. "I recommend bed rest until he is awake and conscious again. Keep him hydrated, but let him fast. Only feed him castor oil. It will induce vomiting. It's only a common fever and that is how all patients get treated. Don't let him get to hot." The doctor took a small hand towel and placed it in a water basin. He pulled it out, wringing out the excess water. He placed it on Raoul's forehead. The pained expression on Raoul's face eased a little. "Swap out for a new towel every now and then, or just dunk this again, but keep a cold towel on his head. It will help keep the fever down." The three in the room turned as they heard Raoul mutter. 

"Ciele, cwêman"

"What was that?" Raoul turned his head slightly, moaning in pain. "Does your son know any second languages?" Philippe shook his head. "Just French. He's to young to be learning anything else." The doctor frowned. He handed Raoul's father a card, while grabbing his things. "Send me a letter if his condition gets worse. I doubt it will though."

For three weeks Raoul lay in a fervor. He would occasionally move in this state but often didn't. Only once more did Raoul scream, but twice did he cry. Raoul's father called again for the doctor, but the doctor said it was no cause for concern and left. Philippe, Eloise, and Aveline all stood vigil over Raoul during the three weeks. They would occasionally hear strange words muttered by Raoul, but they were all gibberish. It was at the third week mark did Raoul start to wake. He wasn't completely lucid but he complained about hunger and Philippe started to feed Raoul. He fed Raoul by hand as Raoul was often too out of sorts to eat himself. 

Christine had been just as worried for Raoul as his family had been. After not seeing Raoul for two days, she set out to the De Chagny manor to look for him. It was strange that Raoul didn't come to play the first day. He visited their cottage every day, either spending the time with Christine, her father, or all three would gather together. When she arrived she was stopped at the door by an older man. He was dressed as a butler. "Where is Raoul?" He looked at her. "You must be Christine." She nodded. "I am. Can I see Raoul." The butler shook his head. "I am afraid not, the young sir has fallen ill. A fever." Christine pouted, she was worried and wanted to see Raoul. She tried again almost every day after, but was always sent away. 

When Raoul woke, being truly conscious, he remembered many things. He remembered all of his lives. The languages of planes beyond Earth. His immortality. He remembered he was an angel. It was a lot for Raoul to take in at such a young age. In the usual cycles, He and others would remembered from the start of a new cycle or would remember when they met their other halves, the sole reason they all existed in the cycles. They would usually meet their other halve again when they were adults, when they could handle remembering without pain. Raoul did not know what prompted this remembrance now. 

Philippe, Eloise, and Aveline could sense a difference in their brother the moment he awoke. He was still happy all the time, but he didn't seem as young as he should have. The blamed it on the fever. It was luck he survived, they thought. Raoul asked about Christine on the second day after he woke. Philippe walked over to the Daae cottage but learned that the family had left some days prior. Raoul frowned at this. It was another thing his siblings noted, he seemed a little more reserved. The most change they saw from Raoul was, before he wasn't particularly religious. He would join his siblings and father to Sunday mass, but never really payed much attention. Now Raoul did. He listened studiously in church. Though a couple time they caught him scoffing or scowling at a preach or sermon. Raoul also prayed more. Philippe would hear him pray every night as he prepared to go to bed. Aveline attributed the new faith in Raoul's near death experience from the fever. 

For Raoul, it was hard dealing with the connections he had to his family even when he didn't really belong. He wasn't mortal. He could feel the hum of the world around him. He could see the innately good and bad in people. It made it hard for him to socially engage as a vicomte was supposed to. He would be gathered in a large room with all sorts of other people and see their souls's glowing dark. His own father glowed a grey. His siblings were lighter, but they were still young. As an angel he couldn't help but want to do something about these people whatever that may be. He loved his family. He did but it was so strange growing with the knowledge that he wasn't really their brother. 

It was only when his siblings moved out and after his father died did he conjure his wings. His sister had married. Philippe lived around, moving whenever he needed to. He was busy of course with their father dead. He could always feel them hanging against his back, a steady weight and warmth that comforted him, but they weren't there. Not by sight. Not by touch. But they could appear, through sight and touch and all ranges of sense. He could make them appear. When he conjured his wings it was perfect. It was indescribable. He had closed his eyes and then opened all of his eyes. Pale, iris-less and pupil-less. They glowed softly in the darker unlit rooms of his house. He kept most of his eyes closed as he didn't need to see all around him most times. And there were plenty of them, covering the expanses of his wings. Some were obscured under feather, others weren't.

He got into the habit of walking around his - empty - house with his wings trailing lax behind him. He got very used to it. He then started finding feathers all over the floor. They were his. All white and golden. He stared at one he had picked off the floor for a minute before laughing loudly. He was molting. He felt for the back of his lower pair of wings and could already feel pin feathers in place of the feathers that had fallen off. This never happened in heaven as everything was in a state of stasis and the feathers belonging to the angels never got worn. It happened every now again for them on earth where time existed, but most of the angels in the cycle didn't keep their wings out for as such longs periods of time as Raoul had been doing. He continued to laugh until he was crying.

For a couple weeks Raoul shed his old feathers and slowly his new feathers grew in place. He spent the excess time spent at his home looking for things to keep him busy. He had been reading an old book and came across a footnote about a cemetery in Paris. What caught his attention was two old graves commissioned nearly seventy years ago. There was a picture attached. One the graves was the phrase, "To the next lives." Raoul smiled as the memory of his previous cycle came to him. He lived in Paris that cycle as well. He and his half commissioned the graves as an earthly reminder of that cycle.

The next day Raoul dawned a warm cloak to combat the winter cold and set out in a carriage to the cemetery. It was a rather plain cemetery, but still nice. He remembered the cemetery being smaller. It must have expanded out during his years in heaven. He noted that rather recent years were at the front. Theirs would be farther back. Raoul set out, keeping track of the dates. He didn't actually know where the graves where, with the cemetery so different from the last time he was there. He was halfway through the cemetery when a familiar name dashed across his vision. The name DAAE was written in large bold letters above the doors to a large mausoleum. Raoul simply looked at the building and knew that it housed the body of Christine's father. His soul was long gone. In Heaven no doubt. Raoul stood for a silent minute, mourning the loss of the kind man. When the his time of reflection was over he continued on his way further into the cemetery. The graves became less defined the further in. Some had chipped away by weather and time. Words and names were faded. He stopped at two small inconspicuous grave stones. There were no bodies six feet below them, only earth. The grave stones shared the phrase Raoul saw in the picture. He squatted leaning closer to the graves. He wiped at a large layer of dust. On the left tombstone was written in the language of Heaven, "Raoul." On the right tombstone, written in the language of Hell, was, "Erik." Raul smiled and turned towards a small black box between the two graves. 

Before they were to return to their respective homes at the end of the previous cycle, Erik suggested they place gifts in a box at the graves in a simple gesture. Raoul cursed himself now that he had chosen perishable gifts for Erik. They would be all long gone by now, but Raoul remembered the smile at which Erik received the gifts and smiled himself. He pulled back the lid of the box, revealing for the first time to the open weather since many years, Erik's gifts to Raoul. In the box was a black ribbon. Raoul had worn many like that the previous cycle and Erik liked to give him a new one whenever he lost one. He pulled the ribbon out of the box and placed it in his coat pocket. He pulled out the last gift, a small golden ring that Erik had worn. He took that as well and placed it next to the ribbon in his pocket. He stood and stretched out his muscles which were swore in the cold. 

It was a year later that Raoul decided to patron the Opera Populaire. He enjoyed the arts and he needed a distraction from doing nothing in his home. The Opera house was a stunning work of art that had Raoul smiling when he first entered it's halls. He enjoyed the gold and white splendor. The Music and the whole building reminded him of Heaven. Of course the singers were no holy choir, but they were still good. Raoul himself never sang in heaven, he wasn't that sort of angel. The only music he knew was the violin Monsieur Daae had taught him.

Philippe said he was going to join Raoul to the opera that night but some business came up and he had to back out. Raoul hoped though that the excursion would do him good. He had spent the last year doing nothing productive. He took a deep breath as he took his seat in box five. Tonight was a night to relax, he wasn't going to spend it obsessing over the past. The opera being played that night was Faust. He hoped he would enjoy it. 

The lights dimmed. The opera had begun. Erik smiled. Carlotta was gone and his protege was going to sing. He walked without a sound through the darkened Opera corridors. He pulled back the curtain to box five. His box, and scowled at the sight of someone already sitting there. On instinct he reached for his Punjab lasso. But he paused when he recognized it as the back of the patron. His scowl deepened. His couldn't kill the patron. He could however deter the man from ever entering his box again. Erik leaned forward toward the patron his hand outstretched. He again hesitated when his eye caught on a flash of gold. A strange and curious sight; the Patron's hair was pulled back by a black ribbon, and intertwined with the ribbon was a golden ring. The ribbon was clearly old, but still in good condition. The ring was partially hidden by the ribbon and on closer inspection the ring was inscribed by words Erik couldn't understand. 

Raoul leaned forward as the last aria was sung. He squinted as the singer left the stage. Then a giddy realization fell over him. "Can it be? Can it be Christine?" He stood up hastily and cheered along with the other guests. "Bravo! Bravo!" His cheers stopped when his hair hair fell forward into his face. He paled. He lifted a hand to the back of his head and felt frantically for the ribbon and ring. His breathing quickened. They weren't there. He whirled around and began searching around the box. 

Erik watched amused from the shadows as the patron upturned the whole opera house. The other guests had long since left the building. Erik chuckled quietly as the managers tried to calm the patron down. They were inept at stopping his lone man hunt. He looked down at the two items in his hands. They didn't seem worth this. They were old and had clearly seen better times. The patron could just as easily buy a new ribbon and a new ring. The ring was the most peculiar item of the two. The language inscribed into it was utter gibberish and whenever Erik looked at it for too long he felt a headache. Erik twisted the ribbon in his hand. He should be congratulating Christine but here he was watching the patron snap at the managers. He scowled as the loud and irritating voices of the three men came closer to the hallway Erik was hiding down. He saw the patron turn the corner and the managers stay back in the light. 

Raoul could feel a headache coming on. He rubbed his forehead as the managers prattled on behind him. His eyes caught on a flash of gold in the darkness. He froze before stumbling towards it. Sitting on the floor in a hallway Raoul was almost certain he never even entered that evening was his ring and ribbon. He smiled and picked up the two items. He tied his hair back with the ribbon, but placed the ring on his finger where he could keep a better eye on it.


	2. Lament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Calculus is a big time consumer.

Raoul stared at the note in his hands. It was a simple thing really. Written in small but neat scrawl. Formal words devoid of any emotional attachment, but the wording made the letter seem to have an attachment. The letter had brought him to Perros-Guirec. 

It was the town, so many years ago where Raoul had spent the summer with his family and Christine. The note was from Christine. She had written to him a week after his first Opera attendance. It was out of the blue a bit. She hadn't seemed to remember him when he attempted to talk to her the day after her preformance. He had to walked through a large crowd praising Christine and had squeezed his way into her open dressing room. She had been sitting on a chaise, smiling at the people who were standing over but she seemed tense. Raoul had introduced himself, and Christine said it was nice to meet him. Raoul frowned and had said that had met before when he had saved her scarf from the sea. She laughed and said she didn't remember such an event. Raoul straightened his back, bid her a good night, and left for home with his disappointment. 

Yet here he was waiting from her to appear in Perros-Guirec, from a note that confused him. He fiddled with the ring on his finger. He had kept it within his line of site ever since he had lost it at the Opera. He wasn't willing to lose it again. 

After a while the sun set and Raoul moved to get a room at an inn. It was a rather small in, but the warm lights and jovial noice drew in Raoul. He approached a counter and wrote down his name in the book. A lady with a motherly appearance appeared from behind a doorframe. 

"Hello, how may I help you?" She glowed a soft white. Raoul smiled, comfortable in her presence. His own sisters had managed to keep a pale and light white, and even his brother had to a degree, but it was fainter, a little grey. 

"I'd like a room for the night, please." He handed her a couple sou and in turn she handed him a key with a card. The card had worn edges from being held often. 

Raoul walked up a pair of worn stairs. They creaked under his feet but didn't bend. The crest of the stairs opended up to a long hallway with door on both sides. He glanced down at the card. In neat black font the number 12 was written. He walked down the hall until reached the door numbered 12. He took the key and unlocked the door. This creaked as well and opened to a small room with a bed, a dresser, a window, and other items. 

He sat on the bed and didn't move for a minute. 

Raoul sighed and dragged his hand down his face. He stood up and pulled his coat tighter around himself. 

Outside he had seem a bench where he could sit and wait. 

The bench was cold but he was willing to wait for Christine. 

It was an hour before Christine appeared. She jostled Raoul from a state of dozing off and he stood up to greet her. She brought her hand up in a gesture to stop and he slowly sat down again. She didn't say anything for a moment and it gave Raoul a chance to look at her. 

She still had the same face she did as a child. Kind and sweet, but now matured as well. He had made all these observations when he had seen her a week prior, but now she seemed tired and haggard. There were shadows under her eyes. And the bright sparkle seemed to have dulled in her expression. 

"Christine are you alright? Why have to brought me here?" 

She looked up at him and smiled softly. "I do remember you Raoul. I told you a lie." The confession was barely above a whisper. 

"Why?" Her smile disappeared. She looked around in the darkness.

"I felt you would be here, when I came back from mass. Some one at church told me so." 

Raoul frowned. He hadn't told anyone that we was here. He had made the decision on a whim and had grabbed the first train. "Who?" 

"Why, my poor father, who is dead." 

Raoul didn't speak. He closed his eyes and could see his grave. When he opened his eyes Christine was again looking around in the dark. 

"Is something wrong? 

She turned pale. "Perhaps I was wrong to write to you. When I saw you in my dressing room I remembered the games we played as children. I thought we could remember together. 

"You haven't answered my question." He noted unhappily. Christine seized his arm with a strength that seemed strange from her. 

"Did you hear anything?" She was looking around once more.

"No." 

She became calm, and released his arm. But suddenly tears appeared in her eyes. Raoul tried to take her into her arms to calm her but she fled. 

Raoul stood and walked. He was dejected at his friends attitude. He walked to clear his mind. It was in this walk, in which Raoul was deep in thought, that he made his way to the graveyard. The church stood to it's side. He was alone in the dark. He walked and read the inscriptions of the tombs around him. Raoul wanted to see again his own grave. Instilled with a new purpose he made his way to the back of the yard. When he turned a few yards he paused at the patches of flowers that were now in bloom, rather than when they weren't the time of his last visit. They were beautiful red roses. They made the yard seem alive. The wind fell with the evening, and Raoul was surrounded by the cold. 

He did not feel it though. The walk had kept him warm, and he could feel the bulk of his wings covering his back from the stinging wind. 

"A strange time for a walk." It was Christine. Raoul moved to talk but was silenced when Christine put her gloved hand over his mouth. 

"Raoul, do you remember the legend of the Angel of music?" He nodded. He knew now it wasn't a legend. 

"It was here at the church that father said, 'when I am in heaven I will send the angel of music. Well he is in heaven and the angel of music has visited me." 

Raoul's eyes widened. The other angels were rarely aloud to leave heaven unless for a purpose. But Christine really had sung like an angel that week ago. 

He smiled. "I have no doubt." 

Christine seemed surprised at his easy acceptance. 

"How do you understand it?" 

"I understand." He said simply. He smiled but she didn't believe him. "I don't like being made a mockery of." She turned and disappeared in the darkness. He called out after her, but heard a resounding "leave me." 

Raoul continued on his path with low spirits, feeling weary. He passed Daae's grave and stopped when he heard a soft melody. It was an enchanting violin score and Raoul felt himself walking closer to the tomb. The score grew louder, before hitting a crescendo when it stopped and Raoul could see glowing yellow eyes surrounded by an encompassing blackness.

The kind landlady was shocked the following morning, when Raoul was brought to her half frozen and unconscious. The man that had brought Raoul was dressed in black and she could not see his face. 

"Where did you find him?" 

"I found him stretched on the steps on a tomb." 

She ran at once to grab blankets and the items necessary to revive him. When she returned the stranger was gone.


	3. A piacere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments revive me

Away from the small town, back in Paris, Carlotta, who was in her small house in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, rang for her maid. Her maid brought her letters to her bed where Carlotta lay. Among them was an anonymous letter. It was written in a deep red ink that's garish color annoyed Carlotta, and with a clumsy almost crude hand. 

The letter read, "If you appear at the House tonight, you must be prepared for a great misfortune at the moment you open your mouth to sing. A misfortune worse than death."

Carlotta set the letter down, finding she no longer had an appetite for breakfast. She pushed back her chocolate, sat up in her bed. The letter was not the first letter of this kind which she had received, but they never had been quite like this, never so threatening.

Carlotta just knew she was the victim of a thousand jealous attempts and Carlotta thought it went without saying that she had a secret enemy who had sworn to ruin her. She just knew that somewicked plot was being hatched against her, but she thought herself not the woman to be intimidated.

When Carlotta had finished thinking over the threat, she stood up.

"We shall see."

Carlotta collected all her supporters, told them that she was threatened at that evening's performance with a plot organized by Christine Daae. She declared that they must play a trick upon her by filling the house with Carlotta's own admirers. She relied upon them to be prepared for whatever Christine might have planned, and to silence adversaries, if, as Carlotta feared, they created a disturbance during her preformance.

It was latter in the night, the sun setting, when the post brought a second anonymous letter with he same hand as the first. It was short and read simply, " You have a bad cold. If you are wise, you will see that it is madness to try to sing tonight."

Carlotta sneered, shrugging her shoulders and sang to herself to comfort her and raise her nerves. 

Her friends were all at the Opera that night, but looked round in vain for the conspirators that they were here tonight to suppress. The only unusual thing was the presence of co-managers in Box Five. Carlotta's friends thought that perhaps the managers had heard of the proposed conspiracy and that they had determined to be in the house so to stop it then and there.

The first act passed without incident, which did not surprise Carlotta's friends, because Margarita does not even sing in this act. 

The managers had been enjoying their evening when the door of the box suddenly opened to admit the startled stage-manager.

"What's the matter?" They both asked, surprised at seeing him there during the opera.

"It seems that there's a plot by Christine Daae's friends against Carlotta. Carlotta's furious."

"What on earth?" said Richard.

But the curtain rose and Richard made a sign to the stage-manager to go away. When the two were alone again, Gilles leaned over to Richard:

"Daae has friends?" 

"Yes, she has."

"Whom?"

Richard glanced across at another box where two men sat.

"The Comte de Chagny?"

"Yes, he spoke to me in her favor with such warmth that, if I had not known him to be Sorelli's friend ..."

"Really? Really? I did not even know he was here in Paris. And who is that pale young man beside him?"

"That's the patron, the viscount you fool. How can you not recognize him?" The Compte was not in Paris until rather recently. You heard of the Vicompte's accident, yes? Well, the Compte just raced to Paris to see to his younger brother."

"The viscount ought to be in his bed. He looks ill, so pale I did not recognize him."

The stage was filled with music. Carlotta was received with enthusiastic applause. It was so unexpected and so uncalled for that those who knew nothing about the rumors looked at one another and asked what was happening. This act also was finished without incident.

The managers left the box during the entr'acte to find out more about the conspiracy of which the stage-manager had spoken; but they soon returned to their seats, shrugging their shoulders and treating the whole affair as silly.

The first thing they saw, on entering the box, was a box of English sweets on the little shelf of the ledge. Who had put them there? They asked the box-keepers, but none of them knew. Then they went back to the shelf where next to the box of sweets, was an opera glass. They looked at each other. They had no inclination to laugh. They sat down in silence, and apprehension

The scene represented Margarita's garden:

From the stage, Christine sang. She raised her head, and caught to sight of the Raoul his box. Her voice became less sure, less crystal-clear than usual.

"What a strangegirl she is!" said one of Carlotta's friends in the stalls, almost aloud. "The other day she was divine; and to-night she's simply bleating. She has no experience, no training."

Raoul watched, enraptured at Christine's preformance. Philippe, who sat behind Raoul, glared at the stage, staring not at it but beyond it, and frowned. Philippe was angry, he was angry at his brother, but mostly worried. He had seen Raoul return from a rapid journey in an alarming state of health. The explanation that followed was unsatisfactory and when Philippe asked Christine Daae for an appointment. She had the audacity to reply that she couldn't even meet with him or Raoul to explain her actions. Philippe had also known Christine when she was young, but unlike Raoul was less than impressed with how she was treating her former friends. 

Raoul, behind the curtain of his hair, the ribbon that usually held it back was being fiddled with by Philippe behind him, wearing down the already worn edges, had his thoughts consumed by the letter which he received on his return to Paris, where Christine, fleeing from Perros like a thief in the night, had arrived before him. The letter had read, " You must have the courage not to see me again, not to speak of me again. If you love me just a little, do this for me, for me who will never forget you, my dear Raoul. My life depends upon it. Your life depends upon it. Your little Christine."

Thunders of applause. Carlotta made her entrance, where she was loudly cheered for and again when she came to the end of the jewel song. 

Certain of herself, certain of her friends in the house, certain of her voice and her success, fearing nothing, Carlotta flung herself into her part without restraint of modesty. She was applauded all the more; and her debut with Faust seemed about to bring her a new success. 

At that moment, the terrible thing happened, the one forewarned in the letter sent to Carlotta only hours before. Carlotta croaked like a toad:

There was suprise on Carlotta's face and surprise on the faces of all the audience. The two managers in their box could not suppress an exclamation of horror. 

The uproar in the house was indescribable. If the thing had happened to any one but Carlotta, she would have been hooted. But everybody knew how perfect an instrument her voice was; and there was no display of anger, but only of horror and dismay.

"Co-ack!" Their joint exclamation of horror was heard all over the house. Leaning over the ledge of their box, the managers stared at Carlotta as though they did not recognize her. The two managers gasped, but Richard's stifled voice was heard calling to Carlotta, "Well, go on!"

Carlotta did not go on, instead she started anew on the line at the end of which the toad had appeared. An awful silence succeeded the uproar. Carlotta's voice alone once more filled the resounding house:

"I feel without alarm. I feel without alarm. I feel without alarm—co-ack! With its melody enwind me—co-ack! And all my heart sub—co-ack!"  
The toad also had started again.

The house broke into a wild uproar. The two managers collapsed in their chairs and dared not even turn round; they had not the strength.  
The ghost was chuckling behind their backs. They distinctly heard his voice in their right ears saying, "She is singing tonight to bring down the chandelier!"

They raised their eyes to the ceiling and uttered a terrible cry. The chandelier, the immense mass of the chandelier was slipping down, coming toward them, at the beckoning of that fiendish voice. Released from its hook, it plunged from the ceiling and came smashing into the middle of the large chamber, everyone rushed towards the doors with a cry.

That tragic evening was bad for everybody. Carlotta fell ill. Christine Daae disappeared after the performance. A fortnight elapsed during which she was seen neither at the Opera nor outside.

Raoul, of course, was the first to be astonished at the prima donna's absence. He wrote to her but received no reply. His worry increased and he was seriously alarmed at never seeing her name on the program. Faust was played without her.

One afternoon he went to the managers' office to ask the reason of Christine's disappearance. He found them both looking extremely worried. Their reception of the Vicomte de Chagny, when he came to ask about Christine, was anything but cordial. They merely told him that she was taking a holiday. He asked how long the holiday was for, and they replied curtly that it was for an unlimited period, as Mlle. Daae had requested leave of absence for reasons of health. Raoul's worry for his friend only grew.

"Then she is ill!" he cried. "What is the matter with her?"

"We don't know."

"Didn't you send the doctor of the Opera to see her?"

"No, she did not ask for him; and, as we trust her, we took her word."

Raoul left the building a victim to his worry. He walked home to his brother's house in a pitiful state. His brother was waiting for him and Raoul fell into his arms, like a child once more. Philippe consoled him, without asking for explanations. With all honesty, Philippe missed the moments where Raoul seemed like his younger brother, when Philippe could take care of him, and when Raoul was reserved and kept to himself. 

Raoul's valet found him in the morning sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast with his brother, but at the sight of his face, the valet thought that perhaps some disaster had occurred. Raoul quietly accepted his letters from the man's hands. He glanced down at the letters and recognized Christine's paper and hand-writing. Her letter simply read, "Dear, Go to the masked ball at the Opera on the night after to-morrow. At twelve o'clock, be in the little room behind the chimney-place of the big crush-room. Stand near the door that leads to the Rotunda. Don't mention this appointment to any one on earth. Wear a white domino and be carefully masked. Do not let yourself be recognized. Christine."


	4. L'istesso

On further inspection the envelope was covered with mud and unstamped. On the front it bore the words "To be handed to M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny," with the address in pencil. 

Raoul read it over again with fevered eyes. No more was needed to relieve his worry. Christine was alright, or at least alright enough to send a letter. He bought a white domino.

The hour of the masquerade came at last. With his face in a mask trimmed with long, thick lace, looking like a pierrot in his white wrap, the viscount thought himself very ridiculous. Men of his status do not go to the Opera ball in fancy-dress. It was absurd. One thought, however, eased Raoul, he would certainly never be recognized. It would make attending the ball, all the much easier. 

The ball was an exceptional affair, given some time before shrovetide, in honor of the anniversary of the birth of a famous draftsman, and it promised to be more extravagant than other Opera balls. Numbers of artists had arranged to go, accompanied by a whole cohort of models and pupils. Raoul climbed the grand staircase at just before midnight. In a quick decision just before he left, he decided to let his wings show trailing behind his domino costume. He had not let them just hang free throughout most of his time as the patron of the Opera house. He kept the eyes on his wings closed, and kept them still behind his back to keep to the illusion of fake. Outside he calm and genial, but inside Raoul felt elated and gleeful that he could even do this in a public place. He felt eyes upon his costume, and heard whispers of awe of the realism, but smiled and continued on.

Crossing the big crush-room and escaping from a mad whirl of dancers in which he was caught for a moment, he at last entered the room mentioned in Christine's letter. He found it crammed, for this small space was the point where all those in the ball converged for a bite of food, or were returning to the dance after supper. 

Raoul leaned against a door frame and waited. He did not need wait long. A black domino passed and gave a quick squeeze to the tips of his fingers. He understood that it was Christine and followed her.

"Is that you, Christine?" he asked.

The black domino turned round promptly and raised her finger to her lips. Warning him not to mention her name again. Raoul continued to follow her in silence, confused, and some worry seeping back in.

The black domino turned back from time to time to see if the white domino was still following.

As Raoul once more passed through the big crush-room, this time being pulled by Christine, he could not help noticing a group crowding around a person whose disguise, and gruesome appearance were causing a sensation. It was a man dressed all in scarlet, with a huge hat and feathers on the top of a wonderful death's mask. From his shoulders hung an immense red-velvet cloak, which trailed along the floor like a king's train, and on this cloak was embroidered, in gold letters, "Don't touch me! I am Red Death stalking abroad

Then one member of the crowd did try to touch him, but a skeleton hand shot out of a crimson sleeve and violently seized the man's wrist, and he uttered a cry of pain and terror. When Red Death released him at last, he ran away like a madman, pursued by the jeers of the bystanders.

It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of masquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction. And Raoul nearly exclaimed.

"Erik!"

The name had come to Raoul's mind instantly. No matter what cycle it was, Raoul would always now His name. Was it really Him? The shock sent him reeling. He wanted to dart forward, forgetting Christine, but the black domino, who also seemed a prey to some strange excitement, caught him by the arm and dragged him from the crush-room, far from the mad crowd through which Red Death was stalking.

The black domino kept on turning back and, apparently, on two occasions saw something that startled her, for she hurried as though they were being pursued.

They went up two floors. Here, the stairs and corridors were almost deserted, for they were all downstairs. The black domino opened the door of a private box and beckoned to the white domino to follow her. Then Christine closed the door behind them and warned him, in a whisper, to remain at the back of the box and on no account show himself. Raoul took off his mask. Christine kept hers on. Raoul was about to ask her to remove it, he was surprised to see her put her ear to the partition and listen for any sound outside. Then she opened the door a little, looked out into the corridor.

"He must have gone up higher." Suddenly she exclaimed, "he is coming down again!"

She tried to close the door, but Raoul prevented her for he had seen, on the top step of the staircase that led to the floor above, a red shoe, followed by another, and slowly, majestically, the whole scarlet costume of Red Death met his eyes. And he once more saw Erik.

"It's he!" he exclaimed.

But Christian slammed the door at the moment before Raoul could rush out. He tried to gently push her aside.

"Whom do you mean by 'he'?" she asked, in a changed voice. 

Raoul tried to overcome the Christine's resistance by force, but she repelled him with a strength which he would never have thought her to have. 

Raoul burst into a mad laugh, he couldn't even hope to begin trying to explain. Christine took of her mask as she sighed. Raoul now saw her face and could not restrain an exclamation of surprise. The fresh complexion of former days was gone. A mortal pallor covered those features, which he had known so charming and so gentle, and sorrow had furrowed them with grave, solemn features. Her head suddenly twisted towards the entrance and she placed her mask on again. She waited for a silent moment and turned towards Raoul. "You must stop asking about me, it's dangerous. Raoul, we were friends once, do this for me; forget about me, please." In a moment, she turned and went away before Raoul could hope to respond. In the dark hallway she turn around, and forbade him, with a gesture, to follow her.

He tried to disobey her; but she turned round and repeated her gesture of farewell with such authority that he dared not move a step.

He watched her till she was out of sight. His worry immense. Then he also went down among the crowd, hardly knowing what he was doing, with throbbing and aching head. As he crossed the dance floor, he asked if anybody had seen Red Death. Every one said yes, they had seen Red Death, but Raoul could not find him. With a heavy heart, at two o'clock in the morning, he turned down the passage that led to Christine Daae's dressing-room.

He tapped at the door. There was no answer. He entered, terrified of another disappearance. He found and lost Erik in one evening, and Christine seemed to be losing to something. The room was empty. A gas-jet was burning, turned down low. He saw some writing paper on a little desk. He thought of writing to Christine, but he heard steps in the passage. He had only time to hide in the inner room, which was separated from the dressing room by a curtain.

Christine entered, took off her mask with a weary movement and flung it on the table. She sighed and let her head fall into her two hands. Raoul heard her murmur, "Poor Erik."

At first, he thought he must be mistaken. His eyes widened. How did Christine know of Erik? Was he here in the House Still? Turning his hear towards the curtain, he heard her shaking her head, and repeating, "Poor Erik."

Christine began to write, deliberately, so calmly that Raoul, who was still trembling from the effects of the events of the evening was painfully impressed.

She wrote on, filling two, three, four sheets. Suddenly, she raised her head and hid the sheets. Christine seemed to be listening. Raoul also listened. A faint singing seemed to issue from the walls, it was as though the walls themselves were singing. The song became plainer, the words were now distinguishable, he heard a voice, a very beautiful, very soft, very captivating voice. And he recognized that voice. "Erik?" The voice came nearer and nearer, it came through the wall, it approached, and now the voice was in the room, in front of Christine. Christine rose and addressed the voice, as though speaking to some one.

"Here I am, Erik," she said. "But you are late."

Raoul, peeking from behind the curtain, could not believe his eyes, There was no one there.

The voice without a body went on singing, and certainly Raoul had never in his life heard anything more absolutely and heroically sweet. He listened to it in a fever and he now began to understand how Christine Daae was able to appear one evening, before the stupefied audience, with accents of a beauty unknown, of a superhuman exaltation, while doubtless still under the influence of the mysterious and invisible body. It was Erik. 

Erik was singing the wedding night Song from Romeo and Juliet. Raoul saw Christine stretch out her arms to the Erik, to the invisible violin playing The Resurrection of Lazarus. And nothing could describe the passion with which the voice sang, "Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!"

The strains went through Raoul's heart. Struggling against the charm that seemed to deprive him of all his will and all his energy and of almost all his lucidity at the moment when he needed them most, he succeeded in drawing back the curtain that hid him and he walked to where Christine stood. 

"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!"

Raoul put out his arms to get he attention of Christine. But, by a sort of dazzling miracle that sent him staggering, Raoul was suddenly flung back, while an icy blast swept over his face. Christine was gone. He struckenly fell back upon the glass surface of a large expansive mirror behind him. And meanwhile the room still echoed with a distant passionate singing, "Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!"

Which way, which way had Christine gone? And Erik still repeated, "Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!" Now those words Raoul a moment ago thought fitting, seemed ill and those loving words that Erik would repeat for him once, no longer seemed for him.

Then, worn out, beaten, empty-brained, he sat down on the chair which Christine had just left. Like her, he let his head fall into his hands. When he raised it, the tears were streaming down his cheeks, tears that wept for a sorrow which was in no way fanciful, but which is common to all the lovers on earth and which he expressed aloud,

"Erik, where are you?" he said.


	5. Grave

Christine returned to the House after her second impromptu disappearance after a week. Her bright character was greatly subdued and the singer walked around the House distracted and pale. She almost seemed the new Opera Ghost the way she acted. Raoul in his part shoved away his questions of the sudden appearance of Erik to watch over Christine. 

He had begun to receive letters written in garish red ink and signed by O.G. But that wasn't the case was it now, Raoul would be left musing. The Opera Ghost had to be Erik. But why, was the question that assaulted Raoul's mind in waking and non-waking moments. 

Raoul never read a letter after the first one had arrived. The first had read: You will not enter the House tonight or any other night. If you do your disaster will bide it's time until it strikes you to your weakest. 

Raoul had burned the letter. He burned every one that came after. He didn't have the heart to read these slights made by the man he had loved over centuries. 

He would spent his days with Christine eager to care for and raise her health from its deathly pallor. Raoul wanted desperately to stop Christine, pull her aside and ask for any explanation about her relations with Erik, but he didn't have the heart. He couldn't drag Christine into anymore of what was so clearly ruining her. So he bit his tongue and waited for Erik to make the first move.

Raoul was sitting by the side of the Opera stage, watching Christine preform dance for the Opera; Il Muto. He was absorbed in his own thoughts and lowered his gaze slowly to the ring sitting on his finger. When he looked up he reeled at the site of Erik's glowing gaze from the shadows behind Christine. 

"The blazing eyes were there!"

"Oh, you are getting like me now, seeing him everywhere!" Christine looked to where Raoul pointed her. "It's probably two candles, left alight by the stage hands."

Raoul dropped his head into his hands. This situation was driving him insane. He lifted his head and gazes at the ceiling of the House. "Erik, what are you doing." He spoke the words so quietly that even he could barely hear it. But Raoul felt a change in the air behind him and he whirled around from his sitting position. 

There was no one. He let out a shaky laugh. 

"Oh I really am seeing him everywhere." 

They retired to Christine's dressing room as the day grew older. 

"Why do you think that you are safer in this room than on the stage?" asked Raoul. "You heard him through the walls here, therefore he can certainly hear us. I might as well add, he has taken you from this room before."

"No." Christine shook her head, lighting a gas lamp as she walked around the room. "He gave me his word not to be behind the walls of my dressing-room again and I believe Erik's word. This room and my bedroom on the lake are for me, exclusively, and not to be approached by him." 

Raoul looked at Christine. 

"What lake are you talking of?" 

Christine looked deeply at her mirror, seeing something beyond it that Raoul could not.

"There is a dark passage. It leads to a vast glassy lake. On the lake there is his world, and my room."

"How can you have gone from this room into that dark passage, Christine? Suppose we try to repeat your movements; shall we?"

Raoul wanted desperately to see Erik. If Christine could take her to him, then Raoul could begin to remedy their strange situation and free his friend from Erik's strange plans. 

"It is dangerous, Raoul. Erik will hear me. He told me so, he is a genius. He is a man who amuses himself by living underground. It is amazing; He does things that no other man could do; he knows things which nobody in the world knows."

"Take care, Christine, you are making a ghost of him again!"

"No, he is not a ghost; he is a man of Heaven and earth, that is all."

Raoul shook his head. "He is no man of Heaven, Christine. Quite the opposite."

She whirled to face Raoul. "Don't say that. You don't understand." She pulled at her hair in desperation. Raoul tread lightly towards Christine and gently pulled her hands away from her head. "I understand much, my friend." Christine looked away. 

"Raoul you are too good a friend. Erik is really not terrible. But..." 

Christine's fade from speak concerned Raoul. "But what?" A pause. "Christine speak to me please." 

"His face." She took in a shuddering breath. "That face, so deformed, so distorted. It is not a face, Raoul. It is but death." 

Raoul shivered at her description. He was well aware that Erik's face was not handsome in the eyes of many, but to hear it described of in such a way. Raoul fought the urge to defend Erik. Such a impassioned defense would surely impossible. To Christine, he had never even seen Erik. 

Christine took Raoul's shiver as agreement and nodded her head. 

Raoul went home, greatly perturbed at all that he had heard.

He put out his lamp as he went to bed and felt a need to insult Erik for his actions towards Christine. Husband or not, Erik was being deplorable at this time, and Raoul was greatly frustrated.

"The damn demon." He whispered into the night. 

But, suddenly, he raised himself on his elbow. Two eyes, like blazing coals, had appeared at the foot of his bed. They stared at him fixedly, terribly, in the darkness of the night.

Raoul was no coward. He sat up fully. He put out a hand toward the table by his bedside. He found the matches and lit his candle. The eyes disappeared.

"Erik?" He called out.

Raoul rose from his bed, and went about the room. He called out again. There was no response. Then he thought himself a fool, and got into bed again and blew out the candle. The eyes reappeared.

He sat up and stared back at them. 

"Is that you, Erik?" Raoul thought: If it's him, he's on the balcony.

He opened the balcony window, looked out, saw nothing and closed the window again. He went back to bed, shivering, for the night was cold.

The eyes were still there, at the foot of the bed. 

Raoul called out once more, but in a different tongue, "Is ðæge pro êower, hellcniht, mîn brôðorlufu, Erik?"

The eyes disappeared suddenly, even though no light had entered the room. Raoul shot forward, socked by the end of the sight. Where had Erik gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Is ðæge pro êower, hellcniht, mîn brôðorlufu, Erik?" - Is it really you, demon, my love, Erik?


	6. Subito

When Raoul entered the House the next day, he surprised the managers and the House workers with how ragged he looked. There were bags under his eyes, evidence of a night not well rested. 

Despite this, Raoul greeted everyone with a jovial smile and a friendly wave. 

The events of the past several weeks had been far too confusing and Raoul wanted a day to simply relax and push his worries behind him. He knew that the anniversary of Mr. Daae's death was fast approaching and he felt it would be a wonderful opportunity to spirit Christine away from the House and let her relax. He planned the whole afternoon. The would take a walk around the city before taking vigil at her father's mausoleum. Raoul knew how much Christine cared for her father, and the trip could take her thoughts away from her worries. 

So with this knowledge, Raoul entered the House quite excited, which led to the surprise of a many a Opera workers.

It took some negotiating to pull his friend out of the House, but the promise of seeing her father was what ultimately convinced Christine to go with him. 

They walked the afternoon away in the parks of Paris. It was as night approached that Raoul turned Christine into a carriage and began their way towards the cemetery that housed her father's mausoleum. Raoul enjoyed the site of Perros again and so did Christine by the site of her smile. Raoul chuckled, pleased that Christine's worries seemed to have melted away. He waved his wand to stop the carriage and stepped out in front of the cemetery. He took Christine's hand and helped her out of the carriage. 

They walked quietly through the Cemetery, but the quiet was quite companionable and both were smiling as they thought of the days on the beach of Perros where Christine's father sang to them and taught them music. They reached the tom quite easily. It was not far from the gates. 

Raoul pulled a candle out from a small bag he had brought. He set it on the dais and looked up at Christine. She was absorbed in looking at the tomb. Raoul lowered his head and summoned the tiniest of flames. The fire danced on his finger and he touched to the wick. It caught alight and Raoul pulled his hand away, extinguishing the flame on his finger. 

He stood at put his hand on Christine's shoulder. She raised her hand and rested it on his.

"Little Lotte thought of everything and Nothing." 

Raoul looked at Christine confused. The words were familiar. But why had Christine interjected with this?

"Her father promised her an angel. He promised her." 

Raoul gazed sadly at Christine. She lowered her head. He pulled Christine into her arms and pushed away the thoughts that this was improper. They weren't courting. They didn't have any chaperone, but Raoul was just here to comfort her. 

He wanted to have taken her away from thoughts of the House and Erik, but they seemed to have followed. Raoul thought back to the last time the had been in Perros. It seemed the distance hadn't worked then as well. 

When Christine had composed herself and smiled up at Raoul, did he let her go, smiling. 

"Forgive me, friend, I am being a damper on what should be a happy occasion of remembrance."

"Do not fret, Christine. These past weeks have been quite daunting." 

Christine laughed loudly. A few birds squawked from nearby trees and set of into the night. Raoul found himself joining her. 

She wiped away tears from the corners of her eyes when the bubbling laughter subsided. 

"That is has." 

They stayed in front of the mausoleum for several more moments. The only light was the candle and the sky now. Raoul looked into the darkness, in the direction where his grave presided. He looked back at Christine. 

"You wouldn't mind if I left you for a moment?" 

She shook her head. Raoul smiled. He pulled out two more candles from is bag. He lowered both to the candle on the dais, lighting them. He handed one to Christine and kept the second for himself. 

"I won't be long, I'm just going to visit another grave. I will be back quickly." 

Christine nodded, smiling softly. 

"Who are they." 

"Just some old family members." 

"Did you know them?" 

"No, they've been dead for nearly a century." 

"Be safe, Raoul. I will stay here." 

Raoul nodded and pulled Christine into a quick hug before he left. 

He kept the candle in front of him as a guide. He reached the two small graves quickly enough. 

When he did, he stopped smiling. He sighed and knelt before the two headstones. He pulled the quite old black ribbon from his bag. He played with the string between his fingers. The small box between the two graves seemed to taunt Raoul, daring him to abandon one of his most beloved possessions. Raoul screwed his eyes shut. 

"ôs âlîefan me..." 

Raoul couldn't do it. He brought the ribbon to his chest. He couldn't leave it. Maybe he was being selfish. But he wanted so much to hold to to the reminder of a time when Erik wasn't being evasive and tormentful. 

A sudden soft music reached his ears. Raoul's eyes snapped open. He jumped up and turned towards the source. It was coming from the Mr. Daae's mausoleum. Memories of what happened the last time he had been in Perros washed over him. 

"Christine!" 

He stumbled forward into a running start towards the mausoleum. The music was getting louder. It was making Raoul's mind hazy. He shook his head to chase away the fog. He brought his hand to his waist, where at times past there might have been a scabbard, but now there was nothing. But that didn't effect the fact that in one swinging motion, Raoul produced a sword. It glistened in the moonlight. 

Raoul could hear Christine's voice. She sounded as transfixed as Raoul felt. Raoul slowed to a halt and watched from the shadows. Where was Erik? There at the doors to the mausoleum stood Erik. Raoul peered closer in the darkness. Erik was wearing a mask. Raoul was puzzled, what was with the mask, he thought. 

Christine walked slowly towards Erik, filled with a dazed look and glazed eyes. 

"Too long you have wondered in this winter. Far from my far-reaching gaze." 

Raoul shook his head. "No..." He whispered. What was Erik doing?

Christine was mumbling something, but wasn't resisting. She was memorized. Erik opened his arms towards Christine. A smile could be seen from behind the mask. Christine faltered, and the smile quickly turned into a frown. 

"You still resist." 

Raoul struggled to move forward. Christine was once more moving closer. At once, Raoul could move once more. He burst from the shadows and called out. 

"Angel of darkness! Cease this torment!" 

Erik's gaze snapped towards Raoul. The trance over Christine wasn't broken, and Erik continued to beckon for Christine. Raoul stalked forward and reached for Christine pleadingly. 

"Christine! Christine, listen to me! Whatever you believe, it isn't so." He turned towards Erik. "Let her go. For God's sake, let her go!" Christine seemed at last to break the trance. Her eyes cleared and she blinked. She turned to Raoul and smiled, relieved. "Oh, Raoul!" 

"Bravo, monsieur. Such spirited words." 

The two turned towards Erik. The anger was clear in his voice. Raoul was mad. he led Christine behind him. 

"More tricks, Erik?" 

Raoul could see Erik narrow his eyes. Erik took a step down the dais, kicking aside the candle. 

"Let's see monsieur how far you'll go." 

"More deception. More violence!"

Raoul stepped towards Erik, raising his sword a little. He wasn't going to attack, but rather defend if he needed to. 

"That's right monsieur, keep walking this way." 

"You can't win her love by making her you prisoner!" 

Raoul stopped walking. He needed to get Christine away from Erik. He turned swiftly around and started to take Christine towards the gates. 

"Don't go! It will be war upon you both!" 

Raoul didn't stop, he pulled Christine ahead of him and quickly guided her away from Erik. They were nearly at the gates when Raoul felt a most horrid pain in his arm. He gasped and tumbled to the ground. As he fell, he swiveled to see behind him. There Erik was standing, his sword in hand. Raoul's eyes widened at the betrayal. Of all the weapons on earth, Erik had managed to obtain his own sword, from centuries ago. The skull decorating the hilt mocked Raoul. Of all the weapons, he had one that could actually injure an angel. 

Then he was reminded of the pain in his shoulder and Christine's presence behind him. He turned to look at her from over his shoulder and winced when the movement made new stabs of pain through his body. 

"Christine go." 

She didn't move. 

"Go!" 

The yell seemed to wake Christine from her shock. She looked at Raoul, shaking her head. 

"Go, I will be fine." 

He smiled to calm her. She looked at the phantom and then to Raoul. She squeezed her eyes closed before bolting though the gates. 

Raoul looked back at Erik. He had his sword raised. 

"I will kill you, monsieur. Have no doubt of it." 

Raoul stumbled backwards as Erik brought the sword down. Raoul leaned up against a large headstone. He grabbed his own sword and pointed it towards Erik, daring him to come closer. Erik made no move, but Raoul did not believe that Erik was done. 

Raoul hissed as the pain grew. His hand shook as he made to move his coat from his shoulders. As he pulled it away, he could see the wound from through his tunic. It was deep, but not fatal. Raoul sighed in relief, but he was bleeding far too much for his like. Gold blood was pooling down his chest. 

Raoul heard Erik gasp from in front of him. Raoul looked up surprised. Erik was looking at the wound. At the gold where there should be red. Suddenly Erik fell to his knees, screaming in pain. 

"Erik!" Raoul dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Erik had passed out. Raoul looked Erik over worried. "Erik! Erik!" 

He wouldn't wake. 

Raoul tore off his coat sleeve and wrapped it around his shoulder. He would have to heal it later. 

Raoul gathered Erik into his arms and struggled at the weight as it strained his wound. Raoul moved into a crouch, his wings unfurled behind him. He pushed off, raising his wings. He brought his wings down and was off. 

The ground grew smaller below him as he flew higher. The strain made him wince. He hadn't properly flied in too long, especially not with w large weight in his arms. He could feel his back muscles straining in protest. But he didn't stop. 

He flew through the night towards his manor. He landed on his balcony and crumpled to his knees in exhaustion. He sat there for a moment, Erik next to him, before he opened the door to his room. He gathered Erik into his arms once more, and lay him on his bed. 

Exhaustion overcame Raoul and he passed out on his floor his winds stretched out, covering him like a blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "ôs âlîefan me..." - God forgive me...


	7. affrettando

Erik snapped his eyes open. Then instantly he closed them, blinded by the light in his room. He slowly opened his eyes when they had adjusted. This was not his home. His home would not be so bright. He sat up, greatly confused. The movement made him dizzy and Erik swayed on the bed. When the feeling was gone, he studied the room around him. It was different in the morning light, but it was undeniably the Vicomte's room. How did he get here. His head felt like he had set himself ablaze. His body felt terrible. The last thing he remembered was getting ready to kill the damned man whose room he now sat in. 

He remembered seeing something and then he was blinded and his head felt as if it was going to explode. A similar occurrence had happened the last time he was in this room. The Vicomte had said something and Erik was awash with pain. He had left the room as quickly as he could without detection and didn't try to kill the man that night. 

Where was the Vicomte? Erik thought suddenly. This was his room, after all. Erik brought his hand to face and found, to his pleasure, that his mask was still faceted on. He swung his feet over the bed and prepared to leave, but froze at the sight of the vicomte asleep on the floor. The man was practically glowing. But that was not what had Erik frozen. No, the vicomte was laying prone on the floor, and attached to man were massive sparkling white wings. 

Erik pain flared up and he yelled, an action that he thought most unbecoming of himself. He stumbled back into the dresser behind him. The noise woke Raoul who jerked up from the floor.

"Erik!" 

He ran towards Erik and eased him into a sitting position on the floor. When the pain lessened, Erik swatted Raoul's hands away, growling. 

"Erik please don't exert yourself too much, you're in pain." Erik laughed dryly, glaring at Raoul who seemed quite intent at staring back. 

"What impressive observation skills you have, monsieur. I bet your family is quite proud of you." Erik spat. Raoul frowned, he started to move his hand towards Erik's head, but Erik grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly." 

"Do not touch me." 

The two didn't speak for a moment. Erik dropped Raoul's wrist, realizing he was still holding it, as if it had burned him. 

"What in Hell are you?" 

Raoul's frown grew deeper. "I thought you would have rememb - with the - and all - here let me get a mirror." Raoul stood up slowly from his kneeling position and turned to grab a small hand mirror from his vanity. Erik watched, with fascination as the wings moved with Raoul. They certainly seemed quite real. For a moment the thought that Raoul was quite naive to turn his back on him, flashed across Erik's mind, but as he peered closer at the wings he saw in shock that the wings were covered in white eyes. Several of them blinked back at Erik. 

Raoul messed around at his vanity for some time. He couldn't find his hand mirror. He wondered if someone had moved it. He opened and closed many of the vanity's drawers as looked for the mirror. Then in the back of one of the drawers he found it. Raoul let a soft yell of triumph pass his lips and turned back to Erik. It was really strange. Erik had no memory and then he collapsed in the cemetery in pain. It reminded Raoul of when he remembered everything when he was a boy. But here Erik was, presenting to Raoul as a demon and still with no memories. 

Erik didn't have his wings, but he was showing off his horns and his eyes were dark, glowing softly black. It was a strange sight when added with the mask. It almost made Raoul laugh. 

Raoul knelt back down to Erik, who seemed ready to bolt at the most opportune time, and handed him the mirror. 

"How will a mirror answer my question, monsieur?" 

"Look at yourself, Erik. I don't really know how to answer this." 

Erik lifted the mirror to his face, annoyed. He looked down from Raoul to see his reflection in the mirror. He already knew what he looked like. Why was the vicomte being so evasive? Erik looked into the mirror for a moment, stunned, before he dropped it. The mirror shattered on the floor and Raoul jerked in surprise. Raoul gathered the shards in his hands. He wiped his hands over the floor to ensure he didn't miss any small pieces. He stood up and placed the pieces on the vanity, before kneeling again in front of Erik. 

"Are you alright, Erik?" 

Erik snapped his gaze up to Raoul, angry. 

"What have you done to me?" 

Raoul sat down completely in front of Erik. He shook his head. "I haven't done anything. Do you really not remember anything? We are rihtlíf. We have been for a long time." Raoul dug his hands in his hair, pulling desperately. He shut his eyes closed tightly. "Forhwý canne êow n¯ænig pro smêagan?"

Erik grunted, pain returning to his mind. 

"Stop that, now!" 

Raoul looked up at Erik, confused. "Stop what?" 

"Whatever words you are saying, whatever language, stop. They bring pain." 

Raoul flinched. "Oh Erik, I'm sorry. I didn't know." Raoul sighed, leaning against his bed. 

"Why is this situation so terrible?" 

Erik glared at Raoul. "You still haven't answered my question." Raoul looked at him sadly. "You wouldn't believe me." 

Erik laughed, but it wasn't a jovial laugh and it unnerved Raoul. "You are sitting here in front of me with wings, and I am sitting here with horns. And you still have the gall to tell me I won't believe you?" 

Raoul looked away. It would be impossible to tell everything, Erik might try to kill him again if he did. Raoul lowered his head into his hands. "You're a demon, Erik." 

Erik huffed. "Really monsieur, name calling? Surely that's beneath a man of status like you." He sneered at Raoul, who still had his head in his hands. 

"No, I mean it Erik. You are a demon. I am an angel. No angel of music, I'm afraid. Just a simple Power." 

Erik looked at Raoul for a long time before speaking. "A demon fighter." Raoul jerked looking at Erik intently. "Do you remember?" 

"No. But I have had the bible recited to me." Raoul slumped back against the bed, sighing. 

"Yes, a fighter of demons, that's the role God first assigned us, but..." Raoul trailed off, staring outside the large window to the balcony, watching the sun rise as noon approached.

"There was a war. Before humans ever populated Earth. A war between God himself and Lucifer over who would hold dominion over Earth. Us angels came to from the Heavens to fight. You demons came up from Hell to fight. We were an equal army. We didn't want to fight; some other angels and I..." Raoul paused, and Erik could tell that he was leaving information out. "The war was actually never fought, God and Lucifer share equal influence on Earth and humans. In their ... agreement the other Powers and I, and a few demons like yourself, get to spend a century on Earth before returning to our respective planes for fifty years. We still have duties after all. I can't remember how many cycles its been now, but we have known each other for many years." 

Raoul looked at Erik sadly. "My true name is Ranulphus. Yours is Eligos. Raoul de Chagny was the name given to me by birth this cycle, just as you were given the name Erik."

"Am I supposed to know this? How long have you?" Raoul brought his wings closer to his body, a movement that surprised Erik, but intrigued him as well. "Well typically we either know at birth or remember when we meet a fellow angel of demon, we all know each other. It's hard not to. But I remembered when I was just a child. It made me quite feverish for a week." 

Raoul laughed softly before quieting. "I don't know why you haven't remembered yet, Erik. I'm sorry you haven't." 

"I would like to leave now." Erik said gruffly. Raoul jerked in surprise. "What?"

"You heard me, monsieur. I will be leaving now." Raoul jumped up after Erik. He put out his arms pleadingly. "You- you can't leave looking like that!" Erik froze. He had forgotten. He slowly brought his hand to one of his horns. It was strange. Erik shivered. Turning to Raoul, he spoke, "How do I not look like this?" He gestured at his head. Raoul thought for a moment. 

"Well it's mostly what you want. If you want to look like a human, then you will." And before Erik's eyes, Raoul suddenly changed. The wings were gone, the glow was gone, and he looked human. Erik thought it was strange, he still really didn't know what to do. Of course he wanted not to look like a demon. Who would? He started towards the vanity mirror to show to Raoul that he didn't know how to change, but when he looked at his reflection there were no more horns. His eyes no longer glowed.

He quickly turned from the mirror and opened the balcony door, heading out. 

"Ah, Erik. Please leave Christine alone. She - she does not return your affections." Erik turned to look at Raoul, who stood back. "And what? I suppose you want me to leave her alone so that she can turn to you, her angel." Erik spat. Raoul frowned, stepping closer, he grabbed the open doors and watched as Erik started to climb down. 

"No. Christine is my friend." He lifted his hand to show Erik. "I am already married." Erik peered at the Vicomte's finger. Yes, indeed there was a golden ring. It was the same ring, that Erik had taken from Raoul's hair so long ago. 

"One of your angel friends, I presume." 

Raoul looked away uneasy. "Ah - Just please, promise me you won't pursue Christine any more. I worry about her. She seems more pale everyday I see her. She loves your music, but you frighten her." 

Erik growled. "You have no promise from me!" 

Raoul leaned over the balcony railings, peering at Erik. 

"Erik!" 

Erik finished climbing down and jumped off into the woods. Raoul groaned and lowered his head to the cold stone of the railings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "rihtlíf" - essentially a word meaning married 
> 
> * "Forhwý canne êow n¯ænig pro smêagan?" - "Why can you not remember?"


	8. a battuta

Weeks went by and Raoul didn't hear anything from Erik. It seemed this was true for Christine as well. She didn't hear anything from Erik, their lessons stopped, and no more gifts were left in her room. This boded well for Christine. Her color returned to her, and she moved around the Opera House jovially. It warmed Raoul that Erik seemed to have listened to his request. Raoul just wondered where he got off to. Erik seemed to have disappeared from the face of the Earth, but Raoul could still feel he was nearby. Erik was still in Paris at the least. 

No longer festering under Erik's watch, Christine pushed herself into the life of the House and became quite busy. This left Raoul alone most often, and he craved companionship. His siblings were all away, but Raoul wanted to talk to someone who would really understand. He rushed to his writing desk, feather in hand, but paused trying to think of to actually contact. It was hard to keep in contact with the Others when on Earth. In the early days, they were all more likely to be living in the same city, as humans were less spread out. Now, the Others would wake farther and farther away from each Other. It was hard to find any one, letters and communication were so slow. Raoul sighed, wishing human communication would evolve so that he could contact the Others easier. 

Raoul sat at his desk for an hour, thinking of any of the others he could maybe have the locations of. He scoured over his father's contact books. Most of the names, Raoul recognized as work partners of his father, none of them were any of the Others. One name did give him pause. His cursory glance, supplied Raoul with the name Alban. Raoul almost moved on, but the name seemed familiar. Looking back, Raoul watched as the name Alban melted away to reveal the true name underneath. Raoul smiled, he and all the Others knew each other, but Alban was a wonderful confidant. They both shared the problem of overly dramatic husbands. Raoul laughed heartily, remembering their talks, for the first time in a few weeks. 

It was not hard to contact Alban, Raoul just wrote a letter and had it sent to Alban's address in Germany. It would be about a week for the letter arrive and then about a week for Alban to arrive. That gave Raoul time he didn't know what to do with. He was alone in the house, and he didn't feel that interested in going to the House and listening to Carlotta.

He began to just meander around his house, his wings trailing behind, just feeling the warm air breeze through the house. The season was getting hot enough that Raoul decided to open the windows, lest he pass out from the building heat in the house. The breeze didn't beat away the heat, but it was nice and Raoul enjoyed the chance to stretch out his wings without feeling suffocated by their sheer mass and the heat they gave off. 

In part with opening all the windows, he decided that opening all the interior doors would promote the flow of the breeze, and keep back the suffocating heat. So Raoul started on the upper floors and just started opening doors, humming to himself in the language of Heaven. Raoul had made his way to the bottom floor when he came upon a small music room. It filled with random trinkets and had become more like a closet, but Philippe had humored Raoul by placing music sheets and instruments into the small room. Raoul smiled eagerly and quickly picked up an old violin that was gathering dust. He brushed it clean and began fiddling with the strings, listing to each key. 

Raoul walked out of the dark room and into the bright sunlight of his hallway, and began to play. He started by mostly plucking the strings in a random pattern, but it quickly turned into various hymns and other music he had learned over the years. 

"...Sicut erat in Principio et Nunc et Semper et in saecula saeculorum..."

"...Lacrimosa dies illa..."

Raoul moved slowly around the house as he played the violin and sang. 

"...Tibi omnes Angeli, tibi Caeli et universae Potestates..." 

"Potestates..."

Raoul froze, dragging the violin bow down, creating a rather unpleasant noise as he did so. He looked around him. He was in the middle of his foyer, but he was alone. Raoul looked around some more, he could have sworn he heard another voice say the word; potestates.

There was no else in the house. Raoul was alone. 

He lowered the violin to his side and just stood in the foyer, trying to hear if the voice was real or not, trying to hear for another sound. There was nothing but the chirping of birds outside. Maybe it was just an echo, his own voice carried back to him. Whatever it had been, it spoiled Raoul's mood for anymore music. He lowered the violin to the floor, resting it against a chair. He wiped his hair out of his face, and tied it back with his ribbon. Raoul slowly sat down in the chair, he didn't know what to do know. The violin hadn't taken as much of his time as he hoped for. 

Raoul looked out the window, the sun hadn't set soon, but it would. Raoul always liked the night, especially in the Summer. It was cool and peaceful. The moonlight made everything look soft and entrancing. The starlight would make for a lovely walk. Raoul smiled and stood, heading for his kitchen. He ate a small dinner while watching the sun's fading light. When he saw the first stars rise, he stood and stepped out of his house. It was quiet, the Chagny manor was removed enough from the city, that it's noises couldn't be heard. Raoul just walked leisurely around his yard. The darkness made everything seem to exit in shades of blue, or dark green, but when Raoul walked near, his soft white glow, made the plants light up with warmer hues. He closed all his eyes and raised his head, letting the cool air wash over him. 

The peace that had permeated around the manor was broken a couple days later, when he received a letter. Raoul looked at it curiously, examining the Opera House stamp. Reading it though was frustrating, and made Raoul wish he hadn't. The managers sent the letter asking his presence at the Opera House. Raoul sighed, lowering his head into his hands. Apparently he wasn't spending enough time there, and his lack of presence was concerning other Opera goers. The managers cited a drop in attendance as his fault. 

Raoul set the letter on his desk, staring at it. He looked at the sky outside. It was far too late to go tonight, but he resolved to go tomorrow evening. 

That next evening, Raoul stood in front of his doors. His hand was frozen, raised for the doorknob. He desperately wanted to stay in the comfort of his home, and avoid the Opera house, but he did have duties, he couldn't shirk them because he was a coward. With new resolve Raoul moved towards the doorknob and twisted it open. He took a step forward, but reared back avoiding collision with someone at his front door. Raoul stood confused for a minute, but then smiled widely. 

"Alban!"

Alban was a rather tall man, he always was. He was also always rather gangly, with black hair, and bright blue eyes. Alban was smiling wide as well and brought his arms wide to hug Raoul. They hugged for a few seconds before Raoul pulled away. 

"I was just going out tonight. I wasn't expecting you until a few days from now. How did you get here so quickly?" Alban laughed. 

"I didn't take the train, those are too slow. I flew." To emphasize his statement, Alban shifted a little to show his wings behind him. They were a light brown with stripes of white and gold. Alban, like all other angels, had a pure white aura. Demons's were pure black. Only humans could experience a mixture of shade. 

"Well come with me. I was going to the Opera." 

Raoul closed the door behind him, and both took a step back from the house. Alban made a rather fake gasp sound, bringing his hand to his mouth. 

"The Opera? How french of you!" 

Raoul laughed and gestured towards his waiting carriage. The two entered the carriage while talking amiably. They passed the ride in conversation. Talking with Alban made Raoul happy. It was nice talking to another angel.

"Alban, tell me have you found your husband yet?" 

Alban sighed dramatically. "Alas, no, but I'm sure I will soon, we're already far into this cycle. How about you, Raoul?" 

"I've met him already, but he hasn't remembered. You know that the cycles are not always perfect, mistakes in the structure happen. I just hope he remembers soon."

Alban put his hand on Raoul's shoulder, conveying the thought, 'It will get better.'

Raoul smiled, but jerked in surprise when the carriage stopped. They were at the Opera House. Raoul stepped out and helped Alban out.

"What do you think of operas, Alban?" 

Raoul looked at other opera goers as they entered, giving waves and smiles to people he knew, as he waited for Alban's response. 

"I've never been to one before. Play and performances sure, but never an Opera." 

"Well, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. My friend Christine is singing tonight." 

"She is good then?" 

Raoul nodded. "Wonderful. Erik teaches her." 

"Erik? Oh that's his name this cycle isn't it?" 

Raoul smiled, nodding. The two entered the large room that housed the stage and seating. Alban started towards the lower seats, but Raoul stopped him, nodding upwards. 

"I have box seating." 

Alban grinned. "A vicomte comes with its perks I see." 

Raoul led Alban upwards and towards box four. They were the only ones in the box, as Raoul hadn't invited anyone else. They both sat down and waited for the start of the Opera. They didn't have to wait long. The lights dimmed and the loud chatter of people below them quieted down. It was an Opera Raoul had never seen before, but it was quite enjoyable. Christine only entered during the second act, but she sang beautifully. Even though she had not seen Erik for some time, her voice was still strong and crystal like in its clarity. The audience applauded her as she left the stage smiling. 

An intermission came on and the stage-manager walked onto the stage to talk to the audience. Raoul stood, and put his hand on Alban's shoulder. 

"I'm going to talk to the managers quickly. Will you be alright?" 

Alban smiled. "Of course. I'm going to mingle though. I plan to find Mîn lufr¯æden tonight." Raoul laughed. "All in one night?" Alban stood up and followed Raoul out of the box. He looked affronted, jokingly. "Yes! He's an idiot, but he's my idiot. I haven't been able to find him in Germany, so why not France?"

Raoul raised his hand, placatingly. "Alright, alright. I won't interfere with your wild search." Alban laughed and they turned heading in different directions. Alban, towards the large crowd. Raoul towards the manager's office. 

When Raoul returned to the box, slightly more annoyed with the managers than he was when he arrived at the House, it was empty. Alban was not yet back. Raoul sat down, tired. Something caught his eye and he turned to the banister of his box. On the ledge was a black ribbon. Raoul felt to the back of his hair, and felt his own ribbon still tied. Raoul's eyes widened, confused. He slowly picked up the ribbon. It was new. Raoul looked at it closer, it looked to be of very nice quality. Raoul placed it back on the banister. It hadn't been there before the intermission. The implications of that was making Raoul head spin. 

He stood up and passed a confused Alban on his way out of the box. He mumbled something about fresh air as Alban yelled questioningly. Raoul ran out into the front foyer of the Opera House, finding it completely empty. He turned towards the front doors. He pulled them open and rushed down the steps of the House. It was dark outside but the moonlight cast a harsher light on the city than it did to his manor. Raoul slowed down and took a deep breath. He stood in the middle of the street, calming himself, for a few minutes. After his breathing had calmed he quietly berated himself for leaving in such a panic. 

Raoul turned around, face down, ready to walk back into the Opera house, but he stumbled walking straight into someone. He felt arms wrap around his waist and stop him from falling. Raoul tried to politely push away from the person, apologizing, but whoever was holding him only tightened his grip. Raoul looked up. 

"Erik!"

Raoul thought he saw Erik smile, but if it was there in the first place it was gone too fast to tell. 

"My my, a vicomte should watch where they are going, shouldn't they." 

Raoul sputtered before closing his mouth. He didn't know what to say. Did Erik still not remember, and if that was true, why was he still holding Raoul. Raoul looked up at Erik, staring at him intently. Raoul raised his hand slowly. He wanted to see Erik's face, and he couldn't do that with that blasted mask. He shivered as the cool porcelain chilled his hand in the warm summer air. To Raoul's surprise Erik jerked back. Raoul stumbled, no longer supported by Erik. Raoul looked back up to ask Erik what was wrong. Erik was standing a couple feet away, his face impassive. His cold stare was unsettling. 

"Erik, Wha-"

Erik snarled, taking a step forward, threateningly. "Don't touch me ever again, monsieur." Erik practically spat the words. Raoul walked toward Erik, trying to grab his coat. "Why! Why... I know you Erik. I've seen your face before. I simply want to see it now. Why can I not?" Erik looked at Raoul with a face that almost looked like fear, but it quickly became impassive once more. 

Erik stalked forward and swiftly swung his sword towards Raoul. Raoul stumbled back, flaring his wings in alarm. For a moment, Erik looked unsure, but then he dashed forward, bringing his sword hilt down on Raoul's head. Raoul collapsed to the floor, ears ringing and vision spotty. 

"Wáce ierlic!"

Erik was pushed back, hitting the ground next to Raoul, with a magic that only Alban had the talent to use. Each of the angels had their own talents, from Magic to teleportation. 

As Raoul's vision cleared, his looked up at Alban blearily. Alban was running towards Raoul. His brown wings were flared out and all his eyes were wide open, glowing gold. 

"What in Hell is going on here?"

Alban started inspecting Raoul's head. Wiping away the small flows of golden blood. Raoul brought his hand to Alban's arm, stopping Alban from continuing his inspection. Alban turned to Erik. 

"What In Hell are you doing you senseless, irrational, idiot! God Help me, Erik! You must be more stupid than a block of wood." 

Alban was rambling now. Pacing back and forth as he yelled at the two men on the ground. Raoul only caught every other word, his hearing still fuzzy. He groaned, Alban's yelling did not help his head. 

"...I have never seen a cycle this mangled and distorted! I mean to the point of violence against each other. That goes against every one of the holy and unholy vows we have made!..." 

Raoul lowered his head to the ground, covering himself in his feathers. He closed his eyes trying to calm his overloaded senses.

"...And you Raoul, you pusillanimous fool! Just because he does not remember does not mean you cannot talk to him! God help me. Really, help me. These two can not help themselves..." 

Alban stopped pacing and glared at both. "You two have some gall! You make me want to kill you both and end your cycle early!"

Raoul jerked his head upwards looking at Alban. "Alban, please you're getting too worked up."

Alban scoffed, and started to pace. He brought his hands to his head and pulled at his hair. "Too worked up! Too worked up! Raoul, please. I've never had this much trouble in a cycle before, and my husband is a prat!" Alban whirled around to face Erik once more, who had at this point stood up and was inspecting the black blood that was dripping from a few cuts. "You're lucky enough that your husband is so forgiving. Lord Almighty, if you had ended up with any other Power they would have smited you to Hell never to come back."

From his periphery, Raoul saw Erik jerk at the word husband. Alban noticed it as well. He turned towards Raoul. "You didn't even tell him that?"

Raoul sighed. "Alban, I have a head injury, I would really rather go home and rest." He stood up, shakingly. Alban helped Raoul up, staring at him sadly. "I'm sorry I dragged out of Germany for this." Alban shook his head. "No, it's alright. Come on."

Alban helped Raul home. He told Raoul to rest, and not to exert himself as his head wound healed. Raoul tried to stop Alban from mother henning, It was just a bump. Alban didn't listen, and applied some salves to Raoul head. He stayed for the night to watch Raoul, but had to return to Germany in the morning, leaving Raoul alone. 

Raoul was on the steps of his manor, dressed in his night clothes. His head was raised towards the sky, watching the increasingly smaller form of Alban as he flew back to Germany. He sighed. He really did not want to return to the Opera house now. 

Raoul did eventually set foot in the House again. Nearly a week after last seeing Erik. Raoul, truly a coward at this point, hoped that he would not encounter him. The managers wanted terribly Raoul to continue working with them. This of course would ensure him to be at the Opera House nearly day, where the people could see him and the managers could alleviate their worries about public appearances. Their muddy grey glow gave Raoul a headache. They eagerly showed him a small office where he could conduct his financial donations to the House. Their excitement made their foul aura glow brighter, which made Raoul avert his eyes most of the time they were showing him the office. Eventually he managed to persuade them to leave him to his work. 

He sat down at the desk. The room was sparse, but Raoul did not care. On the desk, were checking books. Raoul looked at them disinterested. He stared at the books for nearly an hour before standing up. He wondered around the House, walking aimlessly. His feet brought him to the stage, and Raoul sat down in one of the many empty audience seats. He watched as Carlotta sang wondrously before she stopped to berate stage hands, impudent. Her singing voice was quite lovely, that of course was how she was still the main singer at the House, but when she wasn't singing... That was when her voice grated, and one wished she would stop. Carlotta had removed herself from the House after the frog incident, but returned with a fervor after she realized Christine would be taking all her open roles. 

The Opera crew rehearsed for quite a while, preforming various pieces they would be putting on later in the week. Raoul truly did love the arts, it was the reason why he became the patron in the first place, but this House was emotionally draining on him. 

Raoul returned to his office after the crew finished their practice. He had wasted the whole day away. He opened the door, and walked into the small room. He froze in tracks, staring at a small object that had been left on his desk. It was a small deep red rose. 

They kept appearing. Nearly everyday, without fail, Raoul would find one somewhere in the House. Mostly they were to be found in his office, but Raoul did occasionally find them somewhere else. He found two in the seat where he typically watched the crew practice. He found one in the stable where he leaves his horse. Raoul liked them, they made his heart race, but he didn't know what to do with them, and he certainly didn't know what they meant. He didn't understand why Erik would leave them everywhere. Last time Raoul checked, Erik was obsessed with Christine. Last time Raoul had even talked to Erik, he attacked him. Thinking on that night, Erik seemed quite confused how to act towards Raoul. or at least, so Raoul had surmised. The embrace had seemed quite loving, but the sword told a completely different message. It was all very confusing. 

After a week, the number of flowers increased. Now Raoul found them in large numbers. Bouquets of roses and other romantic flowers. The single roses were only found outside his office now. 

Raoul eventually reached a peak of his emotional exhaustion and made his way to the opera roof one afternoon. The summer had passed and fall was setting in. The air was chilly, but crisp, and Raoul took a needed breath of fresh air. Raoul was just so tired. He sat down below a statue of Apollo, and wiped at his face. He sat there on the roof for a while. No one ever came up here, so he used his wings to keep him warm. He wrapped them around his body, bringing them to rest down in front of him. He could hear the loud chatter of people entering the Opera House to watch that night's Opera. It did eventually quite down as they all entered the House and the Opera started. 

He had almost started to fall asleep, when a loud bang startled him. He jerked forward on his seat, his wings instantly disappearing. He hastily stood up. There looking around by the roof door, was Christine. She looked quite frightened. 

"Christine? What's wrong?"

She visible flinched, before calming as she realized it was just Raoul. She wobbled on her feet, and began to shakingly walk towards Raoul. 

"Oh, It's terrible. A man was killed. At the hands of the Phantom!" 

Raoul's eyes widened in alarm. 

"What?" Raoul had gone quite pale. Christine nodded sadly. "Yes, yes... I-I , He loves me I know, it scares me, what if he comes after me now? For not returning his affection." 

Christine looked away, tears threatening to fall. "I thought I had finally got away from him, I thought -." She shook her head. Raul wasn't processing anything Christine was saying.

"Who d-Who did the phantom kill?" 

"The stage-hand. I- I never knew his name..." 

Raoul shook his head. He had met the stage hand. There was no way Erik would kill him. Demons were created for a purpose just as angels were. They punished and tormented sinners in hell. They never interfered with just. Demons could tell just by looking at a human's aura, just as Angels could. The stage hand, while being off-putting, and a little crude, was not a sinner. There was no reason for Erik to kill him, and certainly not an early death. 

"He couldn't have. He - I just. There is just no way."

Christine turned to face him. 

"Why are you defending him, you know what he's capable. Why Raoul he tried to kill you in Perros!" 

Raoul turned away, still shaking his head. Christine grabbed his coat. "Come Raoul, we must go. They found his ...home. They're going to kill him. They've probably already finished the deed." Raoul jerked his arm back. "Who is 'They'?" 

"A mob of people. We all saw the stage manager die. He was killed with the phantom's lasso. Come on we should go. I don't trust this House." 

"No, I- I'm not going. You should go, I'm going to try to find him. This is all a misunderstanding." 

Christine stared at Raoul in shock. "Why?" She was becoming hysterical. "He is a murderer. I've just seen him kill. We must go."

Raoul looked away from Christine, before turning back. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Go, Christine. You'll be fine. Erik won't harm you." 

She hesitated for a moment, before turning towards the door. She looked back at Raoul once before heading down the stairs and out of the Opera house. Raoul watched from the roof as she exited the front and headed into the large crowd. Raoul turned around and yelled, surprised. Standing behind him was Erik, unharmed. Raoul breathed a sigh of relief. 

"You're alright. I was so worried." 

Erik didn't say anything. Raoul grew concerned. He watched silently as Erik unfurled his large imposing black wings. "Erik? I - What's going on? Christine told me the stage-hand was murdered."   
Erik looked away. The silence hung heavy between them. 

"Yes, I heard." Raoul stepped forward, confused. "You heard?" 

"I was elsewhere when the murder happened. I came here and saw your conversation with Christine." 

Raoul smiled. "So I was right, you didn't murder anyone." Erik looked at Raoul sharply. "I have murdered. I just didn't touch the stage hand." 

Raoul scoffed. "Oh Please, I know you have murdered people, I've seen a couple."

Erik didn't respond and the silence stretched between them once more. Suddenly, Raoul found himself in a familiar warm embrace. Both Erik's arms and wings were wrapped around him. He shivered at the contact between Erik's wings and his own. 

"Can I look at your face? Please." Erik didn't say anything or move. Raoul took his silence as confirmation. He slowly raised his hand up and around Erik's head. He untied the small string keeping the mask on, and slowly pulled the mask away. He lowered his hand and the mask slipped out, dropping to the ground loudly. Erik's eyes followed the movement of the mask, but looked back at Raoul expectantly. Raoul smiled as he was able to see Erik's face fully for the first time this cycle. It looked the same as it ever did, but Raoul loved the sight none the less. He brought his hand back up and rested it on Erik's cheek. Erik was warm, and made Raoul feel safe, happy even. 

Erik whispered something while still keeping eye contact with Raoul. Raoul blinked, confused. "What." 

"Husbands...We are husbands."

Raoul nodded. "Yes, we are." Erik brought his hand up to Raoul's face, caressing it softly. "Did you like my flowers?" Raoul laughed softly. "I didn't know what to do with them." Erik hummed, a nice sound that pleased Raoul. 

A sudden yell shattered the nice peace they had built and Raoul was reminded of what was happening around them. "I-We should go. There probably still a mob chasing after you."

"Where to? The opera house is my home." 

"Live with me, in the manor. It gets so lonely with only myself, besides we have a lot of things to talk about. 

Erik laughed. Raoul had forgotten what a nice sound it was. "I think it is dark enough to fly there. Let's fly to your home. 

"Our home." 

The two took off into the dark sky. Flying quietly through the sky. It took only a minute or two to reach the manor. None of the lights were on. The two landed on Raoul's bedroom balcony. 

"Come inside, please." Raoul looked at Erik expectantly. Erik nodded and the two entered the room. "The last two times I was in here never ended nicely." Raoul nodded, before pausing and looking at Erik confused. 

"The last Two times?" He asked, stressing the two. Erik looked at Raoul, coyly. "It's of no importance, Raoul." He paused before continuing. "I think we have better things to talk about." 

"Well, I think those things can wait till morning. It's late and I'm almost asleep upright." Erik stood still, watching as Raoul undressed from his formal clothing and into some light sleep wear. Raoul busied himself with some menial things, like lighting his gas lamp for some light, before sitting down on the bed. His wings were splayed out behind him, resting comfortably on the pillows. He looked at Erik who was rooted to the spot in the middle of the room. 

"Well?" 

Erik jerked, looking at Raoul. "Well, What?" Raoul patted the bed beside him. "To bed, to sleep." Erik didn't move. "I didn't have any guest beds made on such short notice." Raoul drawled out the words, as if explaining something to a child. Erik growled in annoyance at Raoul's tone. Raoul smiled smugly as Erik removed his large cloak and unnecessary clothing for sleeping. Erik slowly made his way into the bed. Raoul turned off his gas lamp before laying down on his side. Half of his wings were covering him, while the others laid behind him, spilling off the bed. Raoul laid down facing Erik. Erik laid down on his side as well, fumbling with his wings. He was not as used to sleeping with them as Raoul was. Eventually he settled for the same method as Raoul, half on him and half spread out behind him. Raoul smiled at Erik in the darkness, the only light provided by the moon. Raoul shifted some of his wings closer to Erik. He could feel Erik and he knew that Erik could fell the contact as well. 

Raoul fell asleep smiling. 

In the morning Raoul awoke to the sun warming him. He opened his eyes and watched a still sleeping Erik. Raoul was very giddy, Erik finally remembered their past lives and was here. In bed with him. Eventually Raoul sat up and stretched. The movement woke Erik, who peered around the room confused before remembering the events of the night previous. He sat up as well and looked at Raoul. Erik slowly reached towards Raoul, cupping his head in his hands, staring intently. Raoul kept still, staring back at Erik. 

"Do you want to talk now?" Erik asked. Raoul shook his head. He brought his hand up and covered Erik's hand. "No, let's talk later. I want to enjoy this moment." Erik smiled lightly. He leaned forward slightly and Raoul followed. The kiss was very light, the two of them barely even touching, but as Raoul pulled away he was beaming. "Can we kiss more?" Erik smiled again. He sat up fully and pulled away, slipping off the bed and walking towards his discarded clothes. 

"After we talk." Erik said slowly. Raoul nodded and stood up, following Erik out of the room. 

"After we talk..." Raoul confirmed, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song mentioned/used in this chapter:   
> 1\. Adoremus in Aeternum  
> 2\. requiem lacrimosa  
> 3\. Te Deum
> 
> * "Mîn lufr¯æden" - My love


End file.
